Scars Run Deep
by Amelia Jean Mannequin
Summary: Some scars run deep, further than what you can see on the surface. Draco's scars may have faded on the surface, but they will never leave him entirely. A short story about Draco and Astoria.


**Author's Note: My first one-shot. Let me know what you think! I did not plan to ever write for these characters, but the idea hooked me.**

**Disclaimer: The plot is mine, but alas, the rest is not.**

Scars Run Deep

Draco sat up slowly as Astoria's breathing relaxed, signifying that sleep had stolen over her body. Grabbing his wand from the bedside table, he crept silently to the bathroom.

"Lumos," he murmured, illuminating the mirror in a sudden flash. He did not flinch as the spots danced before his eyes, so used to the routine was he. Turning on the silver faucet with a grimace, his left arm twitched in objection. It too had adjusted to the ritual.

Lathering up the rough bar of soap, so different than the expensive soap of the daylight hours, he began to scrub viciously on his arm. "_Penance_…" he whispered to himself. The layers of makeup slowly peeled off, revealing the ugly skin beneath.

As he wiped the last dregs of makeup off with a heavy cotton towel, he scowled at his forearm. Staring back up at him was an angry red scar. It had faded greatly over the years, but the outline was still clearly visible. He doubted it would ever go away entirely. The marks were designed that way. They ran deep into each of those marked, condemning them to carry the evil burden for life.

Rubbing his tired eyes once more, he glanced in the mirror. He looked as exhausted as he felt. In a few short hours, he would be waking up to reapply the makeup. It was a vicious cycle, but he knew he deserved it.

He started as he looked in the mirror once more. "Oh my!" He exclaimed. There was a figure standing behind him, the wild hair illuminated oddly by the reflected wandlight. _No, it's not her. It can't be. She is dead._

As Astoria slowly stepped into the bathroom, hair wild from the pillow, Draco was instantly ashamed of thinking of his cruel aunt. His beautiful, kind wife was the exact opposite of the witch.

Her face was unreadable as she approached him, footsteps heavy on the marble floor.

"I thought you used a spell to cover it," she stated, revealing nothing through her quiet voice. Draco made no response.

Her arm reached out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to her. She traced the evil form with her smallest finger, drawing goose bumps to the surface. Draco shivered involuntarily.

"There are some things in life that magic cannot fix. Some things…run too deep. This…" He was cut off abruptly with a strong, silencing look. The mark brushed his side as his arm was released, bringing the evil back toward his body.

"I heard you. I heard you talking. Penance?" When he remained silent, she continued.

"Penance for what, dearest? Being raised poorly, raised to believe that their blood was bad? We all were raised that way. Penance for being forced to serve the Dark Lord, the only other option to watch your parents die? Penance for _this?" _She demanded, gesturing to his limp arm. "Having your parents hold you down while your skin was seared with a mark of evil?"

Still, her husband remained silent.

"Or… does it run deeper?" The voice dropped to a whisper. "Harry still wears his scar proudly, but the world respects him for his. Your scar is a mark of evil acts, committed in self-preservation. Or at least…that is how the world sees it. So you hide it. It is another sign; you have denounced those ways. There is no reason to be haunted by your past any longer. So why are you still committing a mutilating penance? Are you hoping the nighttime will forgive you?"

He turned his face away from her in shame. She seized it, forcing his gaze into her own.

"Listen to me, Draco Malfoy. Harry Potter had a horrible life. He saw death and destruction, felt physical and emotional pain like no other. His battle scars represent that, represent what he endured. It is different for you. You endured a different kind of suffering. Think of a teenager that has been violated. It's practically what happened to you, no? Would that teenager want a constant reminder of having no control over their actions? The world does not respect that. They pity that. This is not overcoming the struggles of your past, like Harry did. This is letting them control you, haunt you."

"No," he said quietly. "You need to listen." Struggling to find his voice, he considered his long-kept secret. "At the battle…he saved me. He saved my life. After all my kind had done to him, he saved me." His voice dropped even lower. "I may have denounced my ways, and I may not want this constant sign of my abuse, but I do owe a debt. When I was young, before the war began, I was mean of my own accord. My own choices. A jealous child, treating a tortured boy badly. And he saved me all the same. I can never repay that kind of debt, not in full. But I owe it to him to at least try." He paused. "Besides, I don't want future generations of my family to pay for my mistakes."

She turned away bitterly. "Do not act like a foolish Gryffindor. Find a better way to repay your debt to him, Draco, this is ridiculous. Stop hiding."

She strode away quickly, stifling a sob.

Draco felt saddened and confused. She was unusually emotional, and seemed to be truly angry about his self-inflicted punishment. He needed to make it up to her; she was the most important thing to him.

And maybe she was right.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Draco crawled back into bed a short while later, trying not to disturb his lovely wife.

She turned to face him. She was still awake.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I just hope you know you don't deserve it."

"No. You were right."

He kissed her eyelids gently. Her arm snaked up his sleeve, feeling the skin of his arm. The area that had once been puckered and angry was now smooth, hidden and all but destroyed by his magic.

"Now you can stop using my makeup," she murmured jokingly.

"Yes dearest," he replied with a chuckle.

"Draco?"

"Mhh?" He mumbled into his pillow, feeling content for the first time in a long time.

"I'm pregnant."


End file.
